Was going to wait and post this tomorrow morning, but what the heck! I'll give it to you now. Please forgive the grammatical and spelling errors I may have overlooked, as well as my continued rustiness.

Enjoy!

REMINDER: Rated M for violence and gore (so far). If you're sensitive to that sort of thing, then what the heck are you doing reading vampire FanFiction in the first place? ;)

Chapter 5: Show No Mercy

The villagers had all huddled to the other side of the town, leaving the tavern quiet and empty. Afina moved Isabella into the building and out of the sun, tying her arms and legs to a chair.

Then Afina sat on the edge of the table and just stared into Isabella's glossed-over eyes. Her mind and memories were carefully guarded and try as she might, Afina couldn't seem to get whatever information it was she was looking for. Her instincts told her that this woman was the key to recovering the remainder of her memories. She couldn't explain why, but she knew it.

After some time, the Count joined her in the darkened room, noting how she hadn't moved for a while.

"I'm not sure I want to know what happened before I died," she finally said. When the Count didn't respond, she continued. "Before I came here, before I met you, I had so many questions about who I was, who my father was. I hadn't even told Henric what I really was – I barely understood it myself. All I knew was that I took an unnatural joy in violence. It was as though there was a she-wolf living inside of me, this animal that I could barely contain. She was always hungry, always lustful, and positively insatiable. Before my mother died, she mentioned you – said that you had promised her that you would help me if I ever needed it. When I heard that there was a possibility that you had returned, I had to know for myself. I felt connected to you and I had no idea why."

She looked over at him and found him staring intently at her. She couldn't read his expression, that strange look in his eyes. She couldn't even guess what he was thinking, but something told her that he knew a great deal more than he was letting on. Everything about him was a façade, an act, a character that he had assumed in order to protect either himself or something else entirely.

And in that moment, she wanted more than anything to understand the man who had taken her under his wing. What was his motivation? Why had he taken such care, such pains to make sure she could survive? Why did she get the feeling that he wanted something from her? Was that why he was helping her? Was she his prey? Was he exploiting her weaknesses, biding his time? She didn't have a clue and as much as she trusted him, not knowing bothered her.

"Did I find out why?" she asked him. "Did you answer all of my questions?"

"All of them," he replied. "Even the ones you were too afraid to articulate. Not just the questions about your father and the blood that coursed through your veins, but also about the 'wolf' inside of you."

The way he said 'wolf' sent a strange heat through her – as if her body remembered something her mind did not. Before the tension between them could increase, she changed the subject.

"I can't get into her mind," she explained, motioning to Isabella. "And I'm not sure I have the strength to break down her carefully constructed walls. She's been trained by the Order to do that – of that I'm certain."

"There is another way." He made his way across the room and stood behind the hunter, gingerly moving her dark hair to one side before pushing her head down until her chin touched just above her clavicle. "There is a very old technique I learned from a vampire in Istanbul many years ago. There's a spot on the back of the neck, where the head connects to the spine. If you hit it just right, you can extract memories and information from the blood."

Afina slid off the table and made her way over to him. "Where?"

He took his two fingers and pointed. "Your fangs must go exactly there. But you must be careful not to sever the chord or get your fangs stuck between her spinal discs. Fangs take at least a month to grow back if you break them." He gathered Isabella's hair in his hand and held it as Afina studied the back of the hunter's slender neck.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked. "Once you obtain her memories, there's no unknowing them."

"I need to do this," was her reply. He nodded and pointed at the spot she needed to bite. Afina's fangs lengthened at will as she descended down to the hunter's neck. "Careful, now," he encouraged.

The sharp tips of her fangs sunk deep into Isabella's neck and Afina's eyes rolled into the back of her head at the taste of blood erupting into her mouth. She sucked deep and closed her eyes, gripping the back of the chair as an onslaught of Isabelle's memories swarmed Afina's consciousness. She moved through them in quick succession, moving rapidly through the woman's childhood, adolescence, adulthood, her time with the Order, cataloguing the varying degrees of information away instinctively.

Then she arrived to about a month before she and Henric had arrived in the Carpathians. Isabella had had eyes for Henric. It had taken a great deal of persuasion, but around the time Afina's mother died was when Isabella and Henric's friendship had started to turn into something more.

Afina watched as the secret affair Raphael had mentioned took place right before her eyes. While Afina had grieved for her mother's passing and the newfound knowledge that she may not actually be human, that her true father was really a vampire, she had pulled away from her husband, and after a time, he found himself in the arms of his wife's best friend.

The knowledge both disgusted and infuriated her. The devastation that a man she thought she knew had been sharing the bed of another was a betrayal she almost couldn't bear. She remembered learning the truth of it, severing ties with Isabella, giving Henric the chance to redeem himself… all on the night she had died. Being told about it was one thing, however. Seeing it for the first time was something else entirely.

Afina continued to watch Isabella's memories as they flashed before her eyes.

When they had arrived in Transylvania, Henric had grown more distant from her, as he became more devoted to Afina and the jealousy and hatred Isabella felt was so potent, Afina wondered how the woman could have borne it without dropping the slightest hint.

She watched as Isabella eavesdropped on a discussion she, Afina, and the Count had shared in private about what she was. Isabella disclosed the information to Raphael who wanted to send word to the Order that they had a damphir in their midst, that she was in league with Count Dracula, but Isabella had instead approached a vampire coven in a neighboring village. They were allies of the Count, sworn to protect him at all costs. When Isabella disclosed information that Afina and Henric were threats to the Count's safety, she had ultimately signed Afina's death certificate.

After seeing enough of Isabella's memories, Afina pulled back, almost drunkenly, stumbling backward until she hit a nearby table, falling back onto it. Her entire head spun as her own memories became more clear, aligning with Isabella's timeline.

She recalled arriving in Transylvania – noting how it felt so familiar to her, like she had finally come home after being away for so long. She remembered arriving in Vaseria, at the Valerious manor, where they were greeted by silent peasants and a welcoming Count who was the very embodiment of charm and masculinity. She recalled his hospitality, sharing her husband's bed that evening, how remorseful he appeared to her. She had suspected that something had passed between him and Isabella, and although part of her felt betrayed at the very likely possibility, something in her didn't care and that bothered her.

She saw the following three days play out in her mind's eye – the extravagant meals, the scenic walks, the exquisite luxury of the place, and the Count was always present. One evening, after a horrible argument with Henric just as the truth of his affair had come to light, Afina had been struggling to sleep in a separate chamber, but sleep had been impossible. She found the Count wide awake in his study. He had invited her in. They talked for hours about who he truly was, about her father, who she was, what she was, and what she could become. The details of their visit were still fuzzy, as though a veil had been drawn over that night, preventing her from remembering. All she could recall was a deep sense of pleasure, a sense of wanton abandon that made her feel free – as though she were flying.

There were no details.

No images.

Just colors – the deepest of reds and the blackest of blacks, swirling together in a sensuous dance, fluid and without restraint.

The memories started to become clear again as she recalled the next day – her last day as a human, when everything had gone so horribly wrong.

The Count was missing that evening – out on business. They were attacked by a werewolf. Isabella had gone missing shortly before the attack had started, leaving Henric and Afina to fend for themselves. They got separated in the forest as Afina was wounded and chased down by a vicious vampire that showed no mercy when he attacked. He was stopped by another whom, at first, she thought may have had a role in her murder, but everything was clearer now. The blood she had smelled on her raggedy dress from earlier belonged to this single vampire – this member of the Agnar coven.

He had left her there for dead upon the other vampire's instructions. She had been bleeding out in the snow, freezing, filthy, her clothes torn to shreds and barely hanging onto her rapidly paling limbs. And then all consciousness ebbed away as her heart slowed and then stopped.

All was still.

All was quiet.

And just as she started to move toward a warm and heavenly light, she was plunged back into darkness as an excruciating pain wracked her body.

The transition had begun.

A memory of Isabella's suddenly shot to the forefront of her mind – that same vampire that had attacked her was the one who tied Henric to the tree, on Isabella's instructions. She in turn had received written orders from Van Helsing for Afina's death. He had suspected she wasn't entirely human, but if Isabella had confirmed that Afina was indeed a damphir, Isabella had been commanded to kill her. Henric was merely expendable. Raphael may have been responsible for the wounds on her now deceased husband, but Isabella and that nameless vampire were responsible for her death and Henric's.

As Afina gained better control over the onslaught of Isabella's memories and her own, her head felt less light and she managed to sit up. Isabella was fully conscious now and she and the Count were watching Afina closely, curious as to what she would do next.

Afina slid off the table and stood in front of Isabella. The rage and sense of treachery made her want to snap the woman's neck and end it now. But she couldn't bring herself to do it.

She looked over at the Count.

Neither said anything for several long moments of tense silence. They merely stared at one another.

Why couldn't she remember the details of that night?

What had transpired between them?

She had her suspicions, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to admit them to herself. But she couldn't look at him anymore. She couldn't look at either of them.

Afina began to make her way toward the door.

"Well?" he called out to her. She turned her head and looked directly into his eyes.

"Do what you will with her. I want no part in it," and she shut the door behind her.

The Count listened as Afina flew off and when she was a safe distance from the village, he turned to Isabella. His face had taken on a dark expression, one that left a very unsettled feeling in the pit of the hunter's stomach.

"So you're the reason for this mess," he began, his voice smooth with a menacing undertone. "I must confess, when I sent you that forged letter from Van Helsing, I had no idea you'd be so eager to comply."

"That was you?" Isabella asked in shock.

"Of course it was. The Vatican has no idea regarding Afina's true nature. If they did, do you really think they would have sent her out here, to me?" He tsked teasingly, pulling up a chair and taking a seat in front of her. Even on a simple wooden chair, he sat as though he were on a throne. "For having a reputation of being one of the cleverest and brightest female hunters the Order has ever produced, I must admit I had been hoping for more of a challenge."

"Why would you send me that letter if you didn't want Afina dead?"

"Because the only way I can get her to recognize her true potential is if she is a vampire. The life of a damphir is so convoluted as it is – being two halves of two completely different species, struggling with things like morality, a conscience. Vampirism is much less complicated. I've done her a favor."

"But she never drank your blood. I thought one of the members of the Agnar coven had accidentally her."

"And that, my dear, is where you are sorely mistaken. You recall that night when you were eavesdropping in on one of my and Afina's many private conversations. Like any good host, I offered her wine…"

"You spiked it with your blood!"

He applauded her.

"Very good! Such a clever girl," he exclaimed cheekily, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He stood and began to circle her slowly while she struggled against her restraints. "You see, when I had discovered your and Henric's little… indiscretion, I knew the truth would come out eventually. Henric wasn't going to tell her at first, but with some very wise and persuasive counsel from myself, he concluded that his marriage and his love for such an extraordinary woman was worth more than any number of evenings he could have spent with you."

Outraged by the truth, she began to struggle even more. This only amused the Count.

"And his confession did exactly what I knew it would… it led her straight into the arms of the only man she could trust, the only one who could answer her questions, who knew what she needed, knew what she wanted…"

"You took advantage of her."

"I exploited her weaknesses, yes. One of the five rules of the hunt. The first rule is to always be aware of your surroundings. I chose the most perfect location I could think of – the heart of Transylvania, in a village full of peasants who knew better than to interfere. I also predicted that you would seek assistance in destroying your competition, and with a few members of the Agnar coven located just a couple of miles away, it was too perfect to resist. Of course, I had assumed that when I told them to leave her be they would obey so I could turn her myself in a more traditional manner, but one of them has been experiencing shifting loyalties. But in the end, it all works out in my favor, really – she dies at this other vampire's hand, and she'll naturally want revenge, and if I play my hand correctly, and if I'm very patient, I get the girl. And through her revenge, I have one less competitor of my own to deal with."

"But she trusts you! How can you just take advantage of her like that? Have you no heart?"

"What do you think?" His smile was positively devilish. "And don't pretend like you care for Afina's well-being, my dear. We all know you don't."

"But it isn't fair," she insisted. "She had no one now! She doesn't know who she is, she barely understands what she is, which gives you the perfect opportunity to mold her into whatever you want! She doesn't stand a chance against you."

That devilish grin grew even darker.

"Few truly do. But that's because of the second rule of the hunt: to always have the upper hand." His laugh was wicked and the darkness in his eyes sent an icy chill through her. "And let's be honest, my pet…" He leaned in close, his hands running up her thighs slowly. "I always have the upper hand."

Isabelle spat in his face, venom in her eyes, but her act of defiance was met with his hand grabbing her face, his gaze holding hers and within seconds he was in her head. She felt all sense of control melt away, and the harder she tried to grasp at the retreating threads, the quicker they escaped, like squeezing a handful of dry sand.

"Third rule of the hunt – exploit your enemy's weaknesses," he purred, untying her with ease and pulling her to her feet and into his arms. He began to dance with her, a slow and intimate waltz. Isabella had no control over her body. Every movement she made was because he had willed her to do it. He pulled her close, whispering in her hear. "Your mind is weak, hunter." She felt his hand run down her backside, his middle finger tracing the seam that ran between each cheek of her buttocks before smoothing his palm over her thigh. "Your body is even weaker." He continued to dance about the room with her, their bodies close, each movement he made emanating a precise amount of intimacy and danger and she was becoming intoxicated by it.

He dipped her down suddenly and when she was pulled back up she was met by a mouth full of fangs. She tried to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth. It was like a waking nightmare. She was in the arms of a horrifying monster and she couldn't scream, she couldn't move. She was helpless. He began to spin her around, faster and faster, until finally she felt his hand let go. She whirled around, having control over her body again and noticed he was gone.

Not wasting a single moment of time, she ran for the door, but when she opened it – there he was, waiting for her. This time she screamed, as loudly as she could, until her throat was hoarse. He had her by the arm this time as he dragged her out into the middle of the square, ignoring the villagers that watched from a distance in horror.

"Rule four – if possible, always use the element of surprise," he explained. "To be completely truthful, pet, I didn't think that one would work. I mean, honestly, me disappearing for no reason, giving you the perfect chance to escape? What kind of fool do you take me for?"

"Let me go, you monster!" she bawled, pulling hard against his grip.

"No, I don't think so. I haven't told you the fifth rule of the hunt yet. Don't you want to know?"

"Let me go! Please let me go," she wept, tears streaming down her face. "I don't want to die. Please, God, no…"

"God has nothing to do with this, my dear," he replied with indifference. "But if it makes you feel better, maybe you should PRAY A LITTLE LOUDER!" he shouted. "He can't HEAR you all the way up there on his golden throne! Surrounded by all of his glorious angels!" The hunter screamed and cried, begging for help from the villagers, but they just stood there, still as statues, watching as the scene unfolded before them. He threw her down on the ground and looked up at the sky. "Well, except for your precious Gabriel who has been TOO BUSY RUINING MY LIFE!" His face shifted into a more demonic form, his fangs bared and eyes dark as he allowed the rage to flow through him. "You want to test me? You think I've been defeated? You think I'll let you trample over me and take it with grace?" he hissed bitterly, still looking up at the sky. He then looked into the eyes of the villagers, basking in their fear.

"Where is your precious Van Helsing, now?" The question was almost a hiss as his teeth began to turn to razors in his mouth. "Do you really think I'll spare any of you?" he shouted. He noticed Isabella struggling to crawl away, but he stopped her before she got very far, lifting her by an arm and with a swift movement her arm dislocated from her shoulder in a sickening pop. She screamed and the entire village shuddered, otherwise motionless, unable to look away.

He released her once more, allowing her to fall to the ground in a heap as she cradled her dangling arm, tears streaming down her face.

"I am Vladislaus Draculea!" he roared, lifting his hands up into the air. "No longer the son of the Dragon, I am the Dragon, the Impaler, the Prince of Darkness, and you will fear me!" Several villagers fell to their knees in fear, praying that God would spare their lives. "That's right, pray. Pray if it makes you feel better."

He glanced over at the hunter who was, once more, struggling to get away, whilst muttering the twenty-third Psalm beneath her breath.

"I still don't think He can hear you, Isabella. Here, I'll help you." She turned and watched him shift into his hell-beast form, which was monstrous to behold. The hellish roar he unleashed appeared to shake the earth beneath her and she quickly scrambled to her feet to run, but he had her by her good arm before she could even take two steps. He lifted her into the air, flying straight up over the village. The villagers moved out into the center of the town like an army of ants with their heads craned back, watching as the vampire flew the hunter higher and higher into the air.

"There we are," he said and he lifted her with ease, holding her by her upper arms so she was forced to face him. "Now scream."

Isabella unleashed a blood-curdling cry as the vampire dove for her neck and tore through muscle and flesh in one merciless bite, devouring her blood with greedy abandon. When her screams began to ebb and his hunger had been sated, he pulled his head back, looking into her glossed-over eyes.

"One final lesson, pet."

He let go of her suddenly and then caught her with one hand so she was dangling in the air.

"Please," she cried submissively. "I'll do anything. Anything you want. Just please don't let me go…"

"Rule number five of the hunt – show no mercy."

He then released her and watched as she plummeted to the earth. Her body hit the ground with a nauseating smack, killing her instantly. There were screams from the village below as the elderly tried to shield the faces of the children from the carnage, but it was a harsh reality they could not ignore.

The Count's colossal form blocked out the sun, his wings casting a dark shadow over the village.

For the briefest of moments, the entire population tensed, holding their breath, waiting for him to strike, but he never did.

Instead, he flew away, his roar of victory echoing through the mountains. Nobody moved or said a word for the longest time, and when at last they did, no one dare touch the corpse of the two vampire hunters that had been brutally slaughtered that morning.

Some whispered that these mountains were cursed, that they, just like their ancestors before, were fools for residing in these woods. But just like their ancestors before, they remained, ever watching the sky, praying that the vampires would not return.

And here we are at the conclusion of another chapter. I'm curious to know your thoughts. A special thanks to the following for your reviews since the posting of the last chapter: ForeverACharmedOne (thank you for being so constant in your reviews! It gives me something to look forward to), invisible reader (the depth of your reviews and the amount of thought you put into them always makes me smile. Thank you for taking the time to write so much!), Teddy (you are too sweet!), Riona Winters (I don't deserve you as a friend - thank you for being so wonderful and reliable; your positive feedback means a lot to me), Trina C (I totally agree. Dracula is hot), and Cosmopolitan Countess (you're the best for taking the time to review each chapter! Gah! I love it! I wish I could give you a hug!).

The responses I've been receiving have been wonderful. Please keep them coming! I look forward to your feedback.

Writing Dracula as a menacing sadist was both fun and extremely difficult for me. I've always written him as a more romantic/tragically misunderstood character and less of a monster with ulterior motives. I'm hoping I did my job well in this chapter. I really wanted to get his streak of sadism across, wanted him to be a truly terrifying being to behold. Hell, I really wanted that entire scene with him and Isabella to be horrifying and even mildly uncomfortable (in a good way - if that makes ANY sense). I hope I did it justice.

Oh, and BEFORE I have a good handful of people jumping up and saying that Draculea should have been spelled Dragulia, I have this to say - both ways are technically correct. Stephen Sommers' script AND the film's novelization (hell yeah, I own it) spell it Dragulia, history spells it the other way. I decided to use the history/anglicized version... because I felt like it.

Well things should really start picking up come the next chapter. Fingers crossed that all of these ideas in my head translate well when I put them on paper!

Musical Influences:
[1] Raven Hill, by Two Steps From Hell, "Halloween"
[2] Chariots of Blood, by Two Steps From Hell, "The Power of Darkness"
[3] Transylvania, by Alan Silvestri, "Van Helsing" OST
[4] Dracula Transcendent, by Tom Zehnder, "Van Helsing" game score